elt that Ellen Halloway has girt around her loins. Quick, for Heaven's
sake, quick; our only chance of safety is in this."

With an activity arising from her despair, the unhappy Clara sprang
from the rude couch on which she had been left by Wacousta, and,
stooping over the form of the maniac, extended her hand to remove the
weapon from her side; but Ellen, who had been awakened from her long
slumber by the yells just uttered, seemed resolute to prevent it. A
struggle for its possession now ensued between these frail and delicate
beings; in which Clara, however, had the advantage, not only from the
recumbent position of her opponent, but from the greater security of
her grasp. At length, with a violent effort, she contrived to disengage
it from the sheath, around which Ellen had closely clasped both her
hands; but, with the quickness of thought, the latter were again
clenched round the naked blade, and without any other evident motive
than what originated in the obstinacy of her madness, the unfortunate
woman fiercely attempted to wrest it away. In the act of doing so, her
hands were dreadfully cut; and Clara, shocked at the sight of the blood
she had been the means of shedding, lost all the energy she had
summoned, and sunk senseless at the feet of the maniac, who now began
to utter the most piteous cries.

"Oh, God! we are lost," exclaimed Sir Everard; "the voice of that
wretched woman has alarmed our enemy, and even now I hear him
approaching. Quick, Clara, give me the knife. But no, it is now too
late; he is here."

At that instant, the dark form of a warrior rushed noiselessly to the
spot on which he stood. The officer turned his eyes in desperation on
his enemy, but a single glance was sufficient to assure him it was not
Wacousta. The Indian paused not in his course, but passing close round
the tree to which the baronet was attached, made a circular movement,
that brought him in a line with the direction that had been taken by
his enemy; and again they were left alone.

A new fear now oppressed the heart of the unfortunate Valletort, even
to agony: Clara still lay senseless, speechless, before him; and his
impression was, that, in the struggle, Ellen Halloway had murdered her.
The latter yet continued her cries; and, as she held up her hands, he
could see by the fire-light they were covered with blood. An
instinctive impulse caused him to bound forward to the assistance of
the motionless Clara; when, to his in